


Don't under any circumstances fall in love ( or do )

by ghettoassenglishman



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alot of angst, Alternate Universe, Angst, Daddy!Mickey, F/M, Film Fic, Hurt, Ian is Alex, Love Rosie AU, M/M, Mickey is Rosie, Slow Build, This fic will not be as updated as fast as my other - but I will keep writing as fast as I can, frustrating story line but all ends well, referenced unrequited love, they will always love eachother ok, will involve character death -
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian wants Mickey, Mickey wants Ian. It takes having a kid, two fuckwit relationships, a funeral, two weddings and a agonizing distance to actually realise that. 12 years is a long time.<br/>Love, Rosie AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bite your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really really loved the film "Love Rosie." When I watched it I was like FUCK THIS COULD FIT WITH IAN AND MICKEY SO WELL. its very angsty but I felt like it was real, it doesn't chuck them together so fast that it could be unrealistic, so I will be running by the dialogue ( not using it but for inspiration). - I hope its good, despite the hurt lil

Mickey sat at the credulous,fine-wined wedding table. Around him, the room was spinning as if the world was in a motion of pure movement. The table he had vacated was empty, just a couple of glasses ready to be filled for the toast. _Shit the speech._ They were ready for him to speak, ready for him to blab words that he didn't really mean. The suit he was forced to wear, by Svetlana, was itching him like crazy and he wasn't sure whether he could cope with all this shit. 

 

_Take a deep breath._ He told himself, hand scrunching up the balled up paper in his hands. It wasn't fair,  _this_ wasn't fair. Why the hell did he have to be best man, why the fuck did he let this happen. Out of all things, he could of dodged this shit. 

 

_And start from the beginning. Tell them how we first met- Wait don't do that, there were kids there for fucks sake._ Mickey shook off the thought, rejecting the idea of spilling out the beans about his and Ian's fucked up life. How they met in the worst circumstance to where Terry barged through, a raging bull of hate. It wasn't the fact, that he might mentally scar the kids and probably most of the adults, it was the fact that it was a story only he and Ian knew, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

 

Ian was getting married. That was it. That was why he was sat there in a suit, with a glass of fucking wine instead of a cold beer. It was why in any second he had to stand up infront of a ton-load of people and tell them about Ian, how Ian was the greatest person anyone could know,  _how_ stupid-fucking Craig was able to have him. Mickey guessed that this was karma for all the mistakes that had happened, all the shit he had blown in Ian's way. Maybe it was his fate, a lonely – not so lonely fate. 

 

Everyone was suddenly infront of him, all sat around the road tables that were plotted around the surface of the venue. Before him sat Ian and  _Craig._ He hated Craig, he tried not to bad-look him infront of Ian. Fiona stooped beside him, arm on his shoulder, giggle at her lips. “Mickey, get the fuck up asswipe. It's your speech.” She giddily took a seat on Ian's table, her eyes gleaming at the happiness of her little brother. Mickey only wished that Mandy was there, to push him – or kick his ass into gear. 

 

Standing up, he braced himself for the bullshit that was about to pour of his mouth. Ian was smiling up to him, happy as come be that Mickey actually made it, Mickey didn't look forward he didn't want to see the only thing that he regretted losing in his life. Debbie nodded towards him, they had created a bond recently, she encouraged him to go on with it. Always the helper. “I don't really need to tell you who I am, my tattoo's aren't so subtle.” Everyone around laughed, Ian more than anyones, his laugh diminished the others.

 

“This has got to be one of the sappiest, but most happiest day of my life.” And he wished that was true.

 

\----

 

**12 years before;**

 

Ian and Mandy had forced, most laughable, Mickey to go out to the club of his 19 th birthday. They didn't care that it was a  _special_ day, as long as they all got free drinks it was fine and fucking dandy. At first Mickey shoved them off, their pleads a distant thought compared to storage hunters that was on repeat. Ian and Mandy wouldn't give it a rest though, they even knelt against the couch and begged on their hands and knee's. Mickey didn't see the highly, excitable predicament that going out to a club was. But whatever, if they stopped being tits and pleading like needy bitches he was going to have go, wasn't he. 

 

They had taken a few shots at the Albi, Kevin cheering him on like a preschool mother at a baseball game. They weren't pissed, but tipsy could be the word, Mandy was already trying to cop off with some bone-headed guys. Luckily, Ian was there to pry her off, Mickey just watched in awe. Knowing that maybe one day Ian could be pulling guys off Mickey, telling them that they couldn't touch what was his. Obviously though, Mickey had to bury that thought deep. He and Ian had been fucking for a while now, no kissing, no intimate star gazing or feeling chatter, it was just fucking.  _So he wished it was._ Ian had tried, aimlessly, to bring things further but the ever-lasting fear of Terry pushed them apart. Mickey couldn't risk going that step further if death was just around the corner, he wished he wasn't such a coward. 

 

Mandy had dragged them to some club she persisted was the best in town, Ian madly agreed, obviously the alcohol wasn't putting him off of glancing over at Mickey every second. Mickey tried to forget it but the fucker just wouldn't stop. They were bestfriends-fuck buddies, nothing more. As usual, Mandy called for shots, making a large line against the counter of the bar. For some reason she had gotten distracted by some big fucker at the end, she had left them with a line of tequila shots. Mickey and Ian looked at eachother, not bothering to speak because it would be useless to even try the music was that loud. However, they did know eachothers body language. They did know that after this Ian would probably shag Mickey's brains out, unless the alcohol was too strong.

 

Mickey's vision was already blurring, Ian's face was swaying with the florescent lights around them, Mickey wanted to touch it. Wanted to run his fingers along his jaw and trace out every freckle. Fuck, the alcohol  _really_ was getting to him. With a raised eyebrow he gave the redhead a questioning look, eyes wandering from his to the lined up shot glasses. Obviously, Ian caught on and he never backed down from a challenge. They started at each end, both counting to three before downing each one until they reached the last one. 

 

“Get the fuck off Gallagher, this baby is mine.” He hadn't yet realised that he was slurring, but by the smirk on Ian's face, and the way the taller boys body was beginning to sway told him they weren't exactly sober anymore. Ian just nodded, laughing as Mickey gipped taking the shot. “Fuck off you dick, you're just a weak pussy.” He slumped himself back onto his stool, not remembering even getting up to take the shots.

 

Ian pushed himself closer, the stool moving up to Mickey's, they both were sat facing eachother, each in a dim glow. “You wouldn't even let me have it, don't act like I wouldn't beat your ass hands down.” Ian smirked again, the same smirk that got Mickey going. He knew the redhead was doing it on purpose, he always did. They were getting closer and closer and Mickey hadn't formed an reaction to it.

 

“You wanna bet?” Mickey teased, licking his lips as he watched Ian's formed into the shape of an “O”. The shape of his lips looked rather appealing, okay, sack that, more than appealing. For some reason, for the first time, he wanted to sink his lips into the flesh. Wait, no, he can't be thinking of this. No. This was just his fuck buddy, all that it was. Some how in his basking thoughts they were barely in words distance, their lips nearly together. Mickey could feel Ian's breath against his, a tequila – budwiser, scented breath that just turned Mickey on even more. 

 

Ian was more than surprised when Mickey was the first one to lean in, this had never happened before. They had never let it further than a quick fuck in the stock room. For all he could tell Mickey was completely out of it, his eyes all over the place, one hand resting on Ian's knee and he wasn't too sure what was going on, or if Mickey was doing this genuinely. Gently, something they never did  _ever ,_ Mickey had looped his hand around Ian's neck, fingers absently playing with the small hairs on the nape of his neck. Ian's gasp nearly spoilt it all but Mickey didn't budge from his lip biting, hands roaming position. It took a little while for the smaller boy to make the first move, but he did eventually. 

 

Ian felt the sudden rush, that he had been ultimately been waiting for, just as their lips touched. Mickey fell flimsy, but he finally took control. Ian felt himself giggle against his lips, the sensation building in his chest something he was more than accepting to have  _all_ his life. One of his hands wrapped, a sturdy grip around Mickey's waist, intimately pulling him closer to make the kiss more deeper. Mickey felt more wanting, his teeth loosely biting down on Ian's bottom lip, probably drawing a little blood. Ian almost forgot that this was their first kiss, that all the time he had to keep biting at Mickey's shoulders or gripping at hips, was all worth it when it came down to this. 

 

Just as Mickey tried to push his chest against Ian's, he stumbled against his feet, the alcohol immediately taking over him. Ian couldn't grab him quick enough and witnessed the southside thug he had been fucking for three years tumble to the ground like a sack of bricks. The brunette was passed out, face first against the lit up floor of the club. Ian laughed, loudly, almost going over the side of the music. Clumsily he leant down to the floor, trying to shake Mickey awake but nothing would budge him. Ian looked around for Mandy, already catching her all over some guy in the middle of the floor ; she would be home later anyway. Gripping underneath the smaller boys armpits, he lifted carelessly the body slumped against the floor. The older boy let out a annoyed groan, head knocking against Ian's shoulder as he leaned the body against his.

 

“Come on tough guy, lets get you home.” In minutes of waving off Mandy, drinking a last shot, Ian pulled Mickey out of the club. The taxi came in no time, despite it being hectic Saturday. The driver helped Ian lift Mickey into the back, resting the brunettes head against Ian's lap. Obliviously, Ian ran his fingers through Mickey's hair, humming to the tune that seemed dragged across the radio in the cab. Looking down he laughed to himself, Mickey was defiantly going to have a hangover in the morning.

 

\---

 

Ian woke up bright and early, hangover not so bad after he bulked himself up with water as soon as he got in. The house was its usual self, full of shouting, laughing and obviously the crying from Liam who was usually cranky in the mornings. Lip had been busy, probably fucking Karen again, Ian had thought. Pulling himself out, sluggishly, he searched for a pair of sweats that he had hopelessly and drunkly chucked in the nights events. After his dream of running water, his mouth was immensely dry, it literally felt like a bag of rocks inside of his mouth. Carl and Debbie came running through, both shouting and screaming at each other about some fucking bag, or shoes, something that was merely irrelevant when his head was pounding like a monkey on a drum. To his dismay he felt the keys dig into his back pocket, that had been holding for Mickey. Shit, Mickey had talked about some run he had to do that day, something for his dad that wasn't that important, but obviously dangerous. With a sigh, running his hands through his hair, he got washed up and clothed before dodging the household and running outside. 

 

The air was beautifully cool, the breeze all that he needed now his face was beginning to burn up. It didn't take that long to get to the Milkovich house, he guessed it was a routing routine. Knocking on the door, he heard nothing more a loud snore coming from the front room, he instantly flinched knowing it was probably Terry, now that he was back. Drawing his ear closer to the wood panel, he heard a rhythmic flow of snores, knowing that he was probably away with the fairies, dreaming of beating some gays up or drinking down a bottle of jacks. With one push, the door slowly opened the wood creaking against the floor. The house was messier than usual, clothes scattered around cluttered together with single pairs of shoes. Mickey's coat was slung over a kitchen chair that was, for some reason, sat directly next to the door. Ian slowly peaked through, noticing the abandoned drunk that he fucking hated so much, spread eagle against the couch like a baby in a cot. A oversized- fuckwit, pertinacious douchebag.

 

“Oh, Hi Ian.” He heard a voice, Mandy slugged he way through to the kitchen in a long sleeved shirt and her underwear. The floor echoed against her bare feet, she padded her way towards the coffee machine, flicking it on as she groaned with her eyes closed. “I'm never drinking again, fuck.”Her voice was incredibly hoarse, tone rough with her dry throat.

 

Ian chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way over to the kitchen table, eyes still weary of Terry who was less than a couple of feet away. “I wouldn't say  _never,_ maybe until the next friday open bar is on at the club.” He earned a weak slap from Mandy, who was engulfing herself in a cup of coffee. The brunette offered with a tilt of a head, Ian just shook his, he couldn't drink anything without puking at the thought of it. 

 

“Suit your fucking self. Why are you here anyway?” She asked, sitting herself down, legs crossed with her hands wrapped around her mug. Ian didn't yet sit down, fingers trailing the edge of the key that had been hiding in his pocket. As much as he wanted to speak to Mandy, his real intentions was to jump on Mickey, make him squeal with the pound of a headache, and the factor that he might, maybe, want to talk about the kiss they had endured. Ian had remembered every bit of it. The lining of Mickey's mouth, the taste of his lips, he had it all reminisced on his mind. “Ian?”

 

Ian's eyes flickered up from where he had been staring down at the wooden table, he shrugged casually. “Mickey left his fucking keys, I brought them over. Said he needed em' or something.” Swiftly, he gripped onto the metal key taking it out of his pocket and planting them onto the table infront of Mandy. She grimaced, heavy breathing through her blocked nose as she sipped at the  _rather_ hot coffee. 

 

“Since when did that dipshit ever use keys, Jesus he's like a grumpy old man.” Mandy moaned from her spot on the chair, her hands tucking into some bread she had quickly nabbed from the loaf on the counter. It wasn't like her voice was high or loud, but obviously someone had heard them, there was a flush of the toilet, the clamp of door slam. Ian gulped knowing that this was probably his queue to leave. “What happened last night, you two fucks just left me?”

 

Ian clicked his tongue to speak, one of the only times he had forgotten his tongue. As soon as he opened his mouth, to even try getting out of a beating, Mandy eyes moved to behind him. Ian followed her gaze directing it to the slug-looking, wrapped up Milkovich hanging by the door. He looked like a burito. “Why the fuck are you's speaking so loud, people are trying to fucking sleep here.” Ian never thought to this day, that Mickey Milkovich would be the cutest fucking morning sleeper.  _Bite your tongue, he can't hear you say that._

 

The brunette turned in his clobbered cocoon, legs shifting slowly with a ultimate fail of slamming the door. Ian looked at Mandy, who was already dozing off against the table. Ian took this opportunity to follow her brother, swiftly taking the keys he had once placed and walk into Mickey's bedroom. Pulling off his jacket, finally letting some air get to his body, he closed the door without any force. Mickey was a ball of mess, bundled in the centre of his double bed. All Ian could see was the pale legs sticking out of the blanket, and a hand reaching out, failing, to find a packet of smokes off the side-table. Ian rolled his eyes, chucking his keys onto the blanket wrapping up Mickey and grabbing the smokes that Mickey was so childishly, aimlessly, trying to get between his fingers.

 

“What the fuck are you doing jackass?” Mickey mumbled from his fortress of hangover heaven, he flopped his hand onto the mattress, morally giving up. Ian giggled, nabbing one of his cigarettes resting it between his teeth, he lifted the corner of the blanket plunging the pack into Mickey's scrambled, open palm. “Lighter?” Mickey mumbled, scrabbling to find a position in which the smoke wouldn't choke him, he was still under his blanket the smoke in his mouth.

 

Ian sighed, patting his pockets to find the lighter he had used not long ago. Lighting his own up, he exhaled his first drag. “There you go princess.” Ian mocked, again chucking the cheap plastic lighter onto the bed and into Mickey's chest. The brunette groaned, just taking his face from under the cover. Ian could now see more clearly the features of what was morning-Mickey. The way his jet-black hair curled and stuck up in awkward places, one dangling across his forehead as it would every time they fucked rough and sweaty. It took him all ounces of strength to not reach forward and swipe that hair away. “Rough?” He winked, sitting at the end of the bed, not too close to the hungover boy who looked like he was going to commit a murder soon.

 

“I'm dying. My brain is going to fucking explode.” Mickey groaned into his hand, throwing back Ian's lighter. Ian watched in awe, still not ready to talk about the kiss, just yet. Mickey blew out the smoke before him, pulling down his quilt to the base of his stomach, revealing his bare, bulked body. “What the fuck happened last night, how did we even get home?”

 

Ian's insides gleamed as Mickey moved to the side, not sharing his quilt, but still making room for Ian to sit by him against the headboard.It was one step closer he guessed. Taking the offer he slipped next to the bummed out boy, snickering at the way Mickey sharply gasped in the air. “We got a taxi back, you wouldn't let me bring you in though. You said to me, and I quote. “Fuck off I ain't a fucking bitch who needs walking home, go suck your own cock.”. It's alright though, your dad wasn't in so you're off the hook.” They both sat in a little silence, blowing out their smoke creating a foggy mist of cigarette smoke.

 

Mickey felt himself boil, how could he even let that shit slip. How could he shout that shit out when his dad could be behind the fucking door. “Ah shit. Fuck. I feel like I should shoot my fucking head off thinking about it.” The brunette yawned, rubbing his eyes until he could see the little enigma lights that orbited around his pupils every time he did it. Ian was watching him, he could feel that glare, or gaze, anywhere. He always fucking did it.

 

Ian bit his lip, not sure what Mickey was referring too exactly, or what he actually remembered. He hoped he remembered their kiss, shit, he sounded like a teenage, hormonal woman.“About which part?” Maybe it was the taxi drive, or the fact he had nearly outed himself tot he street, or maybe it was just the raging hangover that was pecking his brain and making him so annoyed, it didn't have to be the kiss.

 

“All of it. Lets just say it never fucking happened, aright?”Mickey was beginning to get more irritated, not for the fact that his head was like a walking marching band, but the fact that Ian was looking at him weirdly, like he had pissed on his puppy or some shit like that. Then the thought, the painful fearful thought cropped up in his mind. “Shit, you can't be fucking here.”

 

Ian flinched as Mickey began to push at him, trying to regain some sort of balance. “What the fuck Mickey, calm the fuck down.” He pushed himself up to his feet, dodging any incoming fists that were trying to shove him off. “Who's kicked your nuts this morning?” He wiped off some dust that had formed, briefly, on his arms. The walls plaster had been falling off, due to the banging of the headboard, but that was a different story.

 

“Get the fuck out. My dad will do more than a kick in my fucking nuts if you don't leave.” Mickey tried to whisper, gritting his teeth the slower Ian moved along the floor. “Get a move on, Jesus, do you want to be fucking shot?” Mickey rolled his neck, eyes glaring to a flustered Ian who was nowhere near finished with the conversation, at this point, Mickey couldn't take the time to ask what it was because Terry was in the same house. Terry could over hear and then it would all be over. Like it always was.

 

“Why have you always gott-

 

Mickey flung the covers from his waist, smoke in his lips. “I said get the fuck out, before I fucking kick you out. My dad would pour acid on your skin if he caught you in here. Fuck off.” Mickey knew it was a mean, he knew he had to mean to get Gallagher to leave. If anything, he was doing it for Ian's safety. He wasn't yet strong enough to defeat the demon- he called his father. Ian looked deflated, shrugging his coat on with an expression of a lost, innocent child, something Mickey never was. “Ill meet you at the field in an hour.” With that, he shot Ian a deadening glare that told him if he didn't leave now than his ass would be no longer. He might as well forget the kiss, it wasn't like Mickey was excited to talk about it anyway.

 

–

 

Ian prodded towards the field, rocks crunching against his shoes as he made his way over to the spot he and Mickey usually met up. Mickey was already there, staring out towards him with a beer in his hand and a smoke in the other. The summer was a bitch, Ian felt himself melting. The kiss still was lingering on his mind, punching his insides to say  _something._ But his mind just flicked back to Terry, how Mickey wasn't yet able or capable of being with Ian. As much as he wanted it to happen, he knew there was hardly a chance when Terry was around. As he reached the brunette, a beer was already waiting for him, he took it happily, opening it and downing half of its content. 

 

“Calm down Mortal Combat, it doesn't grow on fucking trees y'know.” Mickey snapped, eyes wandering over Ian's torso and then back down the ground. He hadn't really noticed how hot Ian had actually got over the summer whilst he had been in Juvie, from the tank-top he was now wearing _everything_ was on show. It wasn't like he could see it while they were fucking, they never did it face to face; too fucking intimate, too fucking scary. He had noticed Ian being all fidgety, especially earlier that day. Throughout his whole drug run, he couldn't remove Ian's face from his mind, looking so lost and confused, he wasn't sure why. “Stop fucking fidgeting, you need a walking stick or some shit? Losing your balance now?” 

 

“I, er, Craig asked me out on some date.” Ian confessed, nearly blurting out the shit about the kiss but ended up turning around and saying the only thing that had happened to him that day, in which he really did want to forget. He had told himself, if Mickey didn't show any signs that he wanted more than just a fuck then Ian would go on the date and see what all the talk about Craig was. “It ain't nothing serious, I don't even know the guy.”

 

Mickey bit into his lip, Ian hadn't mentioned fucking anyone since the old fuck he drank wine with, and who he had beaten up that one time. “Really? What a fucking gay.” Mickey blurted, shaking his head and taking a huge gulp from his beer. Dates never really did it for him, he didn't see the point. Movies and drinking whilst getting high was the perfect night, he didn't get what going to see a rom-com could do for somehow. How that shit could possibly turn someone on.

 

“Yeh. Well he is gay Mickey.” Ian laughed back, sipping at his beer now. The topic of the kiss was gone now, he had no space to flip it in, no part in time where Mickey wouldn't beat him up for saying that shit. “ _Imagine.”_ He added, shaking his own head at the stupid thought. A part of him told himself that this was the way to get Mickey to talk, make him jealous and maybe he would spill the beans. 

 

Mickey scoffed sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief. Craig was one of the hottest guys in school, after Ian – but he didn't need to know that, and he had asked Ian out on a fucking date; what kid wouldn't say yes to that. Only Mickey, really. “Just fucking go if it means that much to you.” He snapped towards the redhead after he saw his expression that looked as if he was asking for approval. Mickey couldn't loose his game, he couldn't let himself fall for Ian if it could end up with Ian being murdered under the L. 

 

Ian gulped down his beer, leaning against the fence with a casual smirk. “Come the fuck on Mickey.” He rose an eyebrow in the smaller boys direction, questioningly. “Friday is our weekly fuck, where I bring the shit-load of beers and you bring a bong. I'm not fucking you off, alright?” Ian knew he might be being slightly risky, he was basically telling Mickey that he would rather spend time with him than some dumb-hot-jock from school. After all, it was true.

 

Mickey pushed down the rise in his chest, cutting off his sudden urge to smile. “Fuck off Gallagher, just go on your fucking date. Don't mean shit to me if you bail or not.” Suddenly, that tinge of jealously shot through him – he didn't like it, but he wasn't against fighting for the ginger dick. Right now, he had given Ian a pass, something the taller boy could use to fuck that idiot from school. Picking himself up, he pushed away from the fence.

 

“Mick, what would you do then? Mandy isn't going to smoke and drink with you, on a fucking field.” Ian asked, pushing himself, too, off the fence and standing closer to Mickey than he had advised himself too earlier. They both chucked their empty cans behind them, Ian pulling out some smokes and handing one over to Mickey. The smaller boy gladly took the cancer-stick, fingers visibly a little shaky but he blamed that on the withdrawal of coke. Something he had found that could blur his “gay” thoughts for a while.

 

The smaller boy turned to him, smirk balancing on his lips, he blew out the smoke direct into Ian's face. “Then you don't know my fucking sister.” The words shone back to the time Mickey had gotten out of Juvie, Gallagher was waiting their with his little sister, acting as if he was the protector when really, logically Mandy was looking after his small ass – which wasn't that small, and wasn't that weak either. Ian was still looking at him with sadness, like he was too scared to say something, like he was scared that Mickey would lash out and hit the fucker. Mickey gulped away his words, ones he wouldn't and couldn't yet come out with. Not now. “Just go on the fucking date, might as well bag a fuck out of it.”

 

Ian slowly nodded, recognising the sudden nervous twitch Mickey was giving off. He had forgotten that Mickey was so lost in the closet that he could feel the snow in Narnia. Mickey was just brushing it off like he always did. Not matter how many times Ian made it clear, or hinted, that he  _liked_ Mickey the fearful look in the raven-haired boys eyes never differed. They were silent as a few minutes passed by, they both smoked down to the blunts without exchanging a word. Ian got inpaitent as usual and sliced through the deafening silence. “How was the drug run?”  _Great conversation starter – good one Ian._

 

Mickey shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette with the tip of his boot. “Same as usual, we busted some fucking skulls and got some money out of it.” His eyes didn't meet Ian's, his body facing away this time. It was as if he was trying to avoid Ian, like he was testing himself.

 

Ian shifted awkwardly on the spot, knowing the next question might cause even more tension. He had noticed a newly, formed bruise appearing on the brunettes neck, it was growing purple and it was large against his pale skin. “Suppose the guy got a few hits in too, huh?” He lifted his hand, almost brushing his fingers against the skin but Mickey moved away before he could.

 

Dodging the question, Mickey unbuckled his belt. “We gonna chit-chat all night, or you gonna get on me?” As intentionally, he bent over by the fence, grin smearing across his face because he _had_ Gallagher. Ian would never turn down his ass, and he fucking knew it. Shaking his head, Ian followed suit, unbuckling his own pants and standing behind Mickey. Guess the saying “On the fence” had meaning in their case.

 

\---

 

It was Friday, Ian had his shitty date and Mickey... well he had fuck all to do. His original plans off annoying the shit out his sister, whilst drowning himself in alcohol and weed was ruined. Mandy had fucked off with Lip somewhere, saying they needed “Alone time” which he instantly knew was them two fucking in her room to god-knows what hours. Iggy had sold his last bag of weed, and yet again smoked their stash from the bathroom. All Mickey had was a bottle of Jack's that was on the verge of emptiness. Ian hadn't text, Mickey wasn't a needy bitch so he didn't keep checking.

 

Terry had left for a couple of days, saying they had a run that he had to take care of with his brothers. Mickey accounted his had some shit he needed to collect and was regained to household arrest because he literally had nothing to do. No matter how hard his tried to ship his thoughts away, it was drawn back to the centre. Ian fucking Gallagher. However, he had heard, seen, beaten fucks up for something that could easily take him off his mind, even if it was only for a quick couple of minutes.

 

This is the gayest shit he had ever done, nevermind thought of. Mickey stood outside the lit up bar, one he had never actually been too but he had heard from Mandy that Ian would go. It look like a pile of wank filled with old fucks if he was being honest. No wonder Ian liked it here. He always liked the old fucks. Stubbing out his cigarette he walked through the doors, nodding towards a security guard who didn't look twice. For the first time he had walked into a place and no one had looked at him expecting a punch. It would be nice, sure, if they didn't look at him like they were going to eat him up in seconds. Yes, it might be hot, but it wasn't when all he _knew_ and _wanted_ was the stupid-fuckhead's hungry smirk.

 

Reaching the bar he placed himself onto the stool, still ignoring looks and touchy-feeling twinks. The bartender walked over wearing a silver, glittery top. _What has he put himself in for._ Mickey rolled his eyes, fingers twitching for a smoke that was hidden in the pack just in his coat. “What can I get you?” The bartender asked, eyes trailing over Mickey's body which made him feel even more uptight. Why did he even accept his own fucking ideas.

 

“Jack and coke.” Mickey answered, before stumbling back to reality. “Scrap that, Jack neat.” The bartender nodded, giving him a little smile before pouring out his order. As he awaited the only thing that could save him from this place, a hand crept around his waist. Immediately he pushed it off, clenching his jaw in annoyance. The glass appeared before him but so did a wad of money on the counter. He turned around, eye brows raised.

 

Next to him was a tall, yet hot, blonde stranger. Tall built, he stood powerfully over Mickey. He was wearing a fucking suit – what the fuck – and one of his hands were resting near to Mickey's. “Let me get you that.” The smug fuck pushed a couple of notes to the bartender, nodding him off and then turning to Mickey, who instantly wished he hadn't come here. It was fucking weird.

 

“I can pay for my own fucking drink.” Mickey snapped at him, chugging down his Jacks and signalling for another one. This time he pulled out his own money and slammed it, purposely, onto the counter to show his point. Beside him he heard a chuckle, it shot a gipping sensation in his throat because seriously, it wasn't a nice – or turning on – type of laugh. “What the fuck do you want?” Because, fuck, this guy was already irritating him.

The blonde's breath was at his ear, lips close to his lobe. “You wanna get out of here?” The offer was valuable. The guy was fucking annoying but anything to get Ian off his mind, anything to cut out the repetitive image of the redhead and his dumb-smile and his to-die-for cock. Mickey purely nodded, knocking back his drink in one.

 

They got a cab back to Mickey's, a deadly torture of awkwardness. At least when he was with Gallagher they would talk banter, fight _even_ playfully make each other horny in the back seat. This guy was fucking boring, he sat on his phone, typing away orders to his little workers back at the office. Oh, didn't Mickey wish he hadn't have gone to the stupid fucking club. He needed more alcohol. Once they got back to the house, Mickey led the way up the steps, he opened the door and felt himself get violently get pushed into the wall behind him. The blonde was attacking his neck, something he tensed with and found ultimately fucking weird, and he hated it. Pushing him off with force, and a initial grunt that he wished sent the guy into smart-mode.

 

Before the guy could kiss his lips, he shoved him back harder, towards the couch. “No fucking kissing, no name, no nothing. I don't give a shit about what your mom used to read at night, just get the fuck on me.” He had to make it clear afterall, all he wanted was this to be over and done with. It didn't seem so appealing now. A quick as a flash, ignoring the confused stare of the other, he stripped from his clothes, no bothering to turn the lights on because he didn't want to see this. The guy must of caught on, but not to the speed Mickey wanted him too. “Get a fucking move on, I do want to celebrate Christmas y'know.” He could of taken a breath before the guy slammed himself into him, without any prep, some part of him relished the fact that he just went for it, but he had become too used to foreplay, to a point he fucking liked it.

 

Just as things were getting good, after a long while of just slaps and thrusts that didn't hit the spot, the door swung open. Mickey was too busy trying to pretend that the fuck was good to even notice his dead standing in the doorway, with a fag limp inbetween his lips. “What the fuck?”

 

Mickey rushed up from his spot, instantly recognising that voice from anywhere. The blood drained from his body, feeling himself grow white at the sudden fear that washed over him. Clumsily he reached for his boxers, already planning his escape from his ultimate death. The other guy, the blonde, was already out of the door – somehow getting past Terry and his gun already pointing towards Mickey's head. Mickey ran for his life, only to be pistol whipped back onto the couch he was just getting pounded into. Punch after punch, he wished it would all just end now. Terry was over him, hitting him like always, but harder – with more grip, more drive. He knew he was planning to kill him.

 

Then he felt the heaviness leave his chest, his dad stood nearer to the end of the couch, the gun still aimed at his bleeding out son. Mickey could only hear, eyes blurred from blood. Terry was on the phone, “Send the Russian.” It cut off, then it all went blank. Mickey's mind went into auto pilot, like he was watching his life go by without him.

 

 

 

The dial droned on and on, an awaiting sentence to nothing. The ringing tone was like a heart beat monitor, growing out and fading as he pressed “call” again and again. Still nothing. He felt himself sinking into the bed, the cover suffocating him like a plastic sheet. Flashbacks shot into his find, firing the images of the whore riding him into the couch. He remembered biting the inside of his mouth, making it bleed more than it was. He didn't want it. He never wanted it. Fuck, he finally realised that he wished Ian was there to save him, fucking rescue him. Now the fucker wasn't answering his phone, and all Mickey needed was the talk to someone who would get him.

 

He told himself over and over that he couldn't cry. Crying is for pussies. But fuck that, it hurt, _everything_ hurt. Broken pieces laid against the sheets covered in blood, he couldn't move, he didn't want to move. He was stuck in place like a broken record. All he could do was smoke, drink, dial Ian's number like his life depended on it. Every-time it reached voice mail, maybe he should just leave a voicemail, leave a message asking him to come down. Ian would always come down. Mickey always hated the fact that he would. The only time he actually wanted him there he wasn't.

 

Mickey inhaled the stale air around him, bringing up a new text.

 

**To Firecrotch;** _ Yo, meet me at the field in ten _

 

It took a while for any reply, way to long. Ian would reply in seconds, always taking up the time to text him back, now it was like he wasn't even there. Shit, how could he forget Ian's date. Shit. 

 

**From Firecrotch;** _ Can't come , somethings come up. See u tomorrow _

 

Mickey didn't bother messaging back, he didn't want to message back. Fuck Ian. Fuck Ian and his stupid fucking boyfriend – or whatever he was. Fuck it all. Lobbing the phone across the room, hitting it against the mirror facing the bed, he ran his hand over his face, not caring for the wave of pain that rushed over from his wounds. He didn't cry. Mickey Milkovich never fucking cried. Right now, he had no one, not even the fucker that was constantly trying to push himself into his life. 

 

Mickey Milkovich could fucking cry. 


	2. Not for the likes of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boston?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feels/ feels / feels . I know this is very sad for Mickey's part, but it will get better for him I swear:( If you've watched the film you shall understand lol
> 
> Anyway, loved writing this chapter - please keep reading

Ian was waiting outside the back of the Milkovich house; he wasn't sure why he had to sit at the back but he complied to Mickey's orders anyway. Mickey had text him in the early hours wanting to go to the field, he wasn't exactly sure why, but he wished he had gone now. The date was shit, he could of guessed. They always were. Maybe he just wasn't able to hold a relationship like he should. With a smoke dangling out of his lips, he cracked his neck as he heard a crunch from behind him. Mickey was climbing out of the window, feet planting onto some crushed cans that had been chucked outside. Ian pulled his hood down which had been covering his bruised face. Mickey scowled towards him, head tilting to the side so Ian would walk with him.

 

Mickey was beaten, eyebrow with a gash, face all busted up, each time he walked he winced. Walking as if the path led to his death. Ian sunk his teeth into his lip, scared for what could have caused Mickey that, he had never seen him so beat up. No one would dare beat him up, he had the reputation of the local criminal who could cut your fingers off and send them to your family in the post. Mickey rejected the idea of returning a gaze to answer the ticking questions that Ian had, instead he focused on Ian's own beatings, he totally didn't have that shoot of anger, that would be crazy. “You get into some street fight or some shit, thought you were on a date not competing in fight club.”

 

“It was a shit date.” Ian simply stated, eyes looking down towards his feet as they walked around the block. He already knew where they were going; The abandoned buildings, a place where no one would find them, a place they could just call their own. Mickey took a quick glance towards Ian, something that the redhead had caught to, he suddenly diverted his gaze elsewhere, not wanting Ian to see he had took a look. “What did you do last night, you text me pretty late?” Ian had been shocked about the time Mickey had text him, at that point he was in the middle of fighting off his date who had used him to beat the shit out of him.

 

Mickey chuckled to himself, shrugging off the idiotic idea of telling Ian what actually happened. “That past your bedtime, Gallagher?” They rounded the corner, getting nearer to the designated spot. The smaller boy winced against his leg, beginning to limp towards the entrance of the burn out block. Ian followed, eyes filled with concern at the state of his fuck-buddy, per say lover- to him. Mickey didn't look good, he looked worse than any other drug run he had. Ian knew how Terry could be, Mandy always told him, he knew that fuck was capable of this. “Your boyfriend like it rough or some shit?” Mickey added, pointing out the cut just below Ian's eye.

 

Ian instinctively felt the cut, blood still dry against it. “Like I said, it was a shit date.” He tried not to remember it, but when they founded themselves inside of the building Mickey already sitting against the wall pulling out a hidden bottle of whisky, he felt the need to elaborate. “He, er, used me. Thought it would be funny to fuck me off in front of his mates. It was fucking awful, I felt so ashamed, like they were higher than me or something. We had a scrap, beat him the fuck up, and took a run for it.” Ian sat beside Mickey, not too close but close enough.

 

Mickey lit up a smoke, taking a drag and handing it over to Ian. Through his black eye he could see see the way Ian was shaking underneath his skin, the fucker was still scared, probably. “You want me to beat his ass or something, show that fuck he doesn't know who he's messing with?” Ian smirked at the suggestion, weirdly making Mickey's stomach turn with the brewing alcohol. Mickey was serious though, he did have a lot of anger that needed to be unleashed, he might start shooting some shit. Maybe he would do that now. He wasn't going to tell Ian about the night before, he had thought about it, but Ian needed to sort his own shit out before helping Mickey's with his. Mickey could help himself, he'd always done that.

 

Ian watched as the smaller boy heaved himself of the ground, pulling himself towards the made-shift target against the brick wall. “Its fine, I bruised him pretty good. I ain't as much as a whimp you make me out to be Mick.” Ian laughed, flinching each time Mickey let the barrel of his gun go, bullet flying into the drawn target, each shot into the centre. Ian was still worried about Mickey, they both might have had rough nights, but Mickey's was far worse. He could hardly walk for fucks sakes. “You gonna tell me what happened to you?” because seriously, Mickey looked like shit.

 

The smaller boy shook his head, wiping the underneath of his nose against his arm. “I don't have to tell you shit.” Despite his will to actually tell Ian, he felt the barriers build up, the walls Ian had managed to crack and build dust – were now pulled back up, stronger than ever. “Nothing your sorry-ass should worry about.” He shot the gun once more, hitting bullseye in the target.

 

Ian had regained himself from the continuous gunfire, swallowing the burning liquid slowly, trying to decipher whether to make Mickey speak or to ask anything else. Afterall, Mickey wasn't the type to spread his feelings out on a blanket under the stars. “ _Right.”_ Ian spoke back, sarcastically.

 

The raven-haired boy licked his lips consciously, catching Ian's shuffle against the wall through the corner of his eye. He was really trying, like really, to not acknowledge that somewhere he felt something for the kid sat behind him, but fuck. He was already fucked. Right now he needed to pull himself back to track, he needed to tell himself that what his dad was saying was right, just so he could actually live. So Ian could actually live. If his dad found them fucking, like he had with Mickey last night, they would both be six feet under by now. Fire after fire, he hit his target, Terry's face morphing into the red dot direct in the centre. Mickey wanted to laugh, he wanted to actually go home and shoot that fucker down. One bullet, that was all it could take; in the right angle, the right aim, the right shot could end it all. Then Mickey didn't have to hide inside of the shadows.

 

“I was thinking about something.” Ian uttered out into the basked silence filled with gun shots and the light grunts from the older man. Ian didn't confront, but he could see the way Mickey's arm was shaking, how his eyes blinked over and over like a flinch to his shots. Mickey was never like that. Ian would come watch him shoot after a fuck, Ian had never seen him so-so...frail.

 

“Enlighten me then tough guy.” Mickey shot back, eyes not leaving his target. His feet shuffled against the concrete floor, feet crunching against the scattered rocks.

 

Ian pushed himself up with a wince and the help of the wall, he managed to stand closer to the boy shooting out at the wall behind his destroyed shooting range. Ian could sense something more was going on; he noticed it more than anything. Mickey didn't seem himself, he seemed in a motion of self destruct, that anything he could shoot at was giving him a sense of relief. “Lets get out of here.”

 

Mickey shot up his eyebrows, dropping his aim as he whipped out a smoke and balanced it inbetween his teeth. “Your hungry? Go get your own fucking food, man.” Lighting up his cigarette, he pocketed his gun for a moment, wanting to just relish his smoke for a little while.

 

“I was thinking more Boston.” Ian interjected, being more straight forward than he should be. Ian had been looking outside of Chicago for a while now, his previous night just pressured the point that he should go with it, leave his home town because he was fucking sick of it. It looked like Mickey wasn't getting him, the smoke dangling in his lips. “Massachusetts.”

 

Mickey laughed around the filter, eyebrows up by his hairline. Ian did make things sound so fucking easy, didn't he. “You fucking serious, you think I should flee the country?” Ian and his stupid idea's, didn't he get that Mickey was fucked for life, that he would never be able to leave even if he wanted to. Terry wasn't one to grant his son dreams, especially after finding him ass deep in cock.

 

 

Ian felt pushed back, a little hurt that Mickey laughed at his genuine idea. “I'm serious, Mickey. I'm fucking sick of this place, all it is is a dead end.” The fact he was telling Mickey all this, he didn't really know, he just felt that Mickey should know. For one he actually wanted Mickey to come with him, he wanted to _have_ Mickey – though he knew Mickey wasn't one to feel, or talk about feelings. It was worth a try. Maybe Mickey felt the same way too.

 

Mickey flicked his blunt cigarette after pausing a long time, blowing out the smoke he stepped closer towards the awkward looking boy in front of him. “Have you forgotten where we live? No-one gets out of Southside, that's just how it fucking is.” He hadn't even realised that he was jabbing Ian in the chest until the redhead recovered himself backwards holding the point of impact. “Why the fuck are you even telling me this, you been planning this romantic get away or some shit. We ain't boyfriend and girlfriend here.” Shit, he stuttered on his last words – Ian would know something was up now.

 

“I know, you keep saying that.” Ian quietened down, head knocking against the wall of the building, his eyes were still locked onto Mickey, who was kicking rocks about nervously. “But, I'm serious. Boston has this army course there.” He could feel Mickey rolling his eyes. “They happen to do mechanic course too, that's what you wanna do right?”

 

“So fucking what if I do, it ain't gonna change anything” Mickey snapped, not yet defying the bullshit that was coming out of Ian's mouth. It looked like the redhead was set with his goals, the research and everything. How the fuck Ian knew what Mickey wanted to do was beyond him, when had he even said that. Wait – Fucking Mandy and her big mouth. Ian was looking at him with those puppy dog eyes, pleading him to take it all in consideration. “What, you want me to chase you like some bitch?”

 

“Getting out doesn't make you a bitch.” Ian hardened his face, still making it his mission to persuade Mickey to go with him. There still was the problem of Mickey not even liking him like that, even if he had shown some valuable signs that showed different. They both knew what eachother was thinking – they didn't have to say why getting out together would be good – they already knew. “Just- Just think about it alright?” Ian stepped towards the stairs, starting to leave Mickey alone on the rooftop.

 

Giving up Mickey rubbed his hand against his face, “Fucking fine. But I ain't promising shit. I don't even go to school, how you expect me to go is fucking hilarious.” He wasn't going to tell Ian that they would run away together, he didn't even have the fucking grades; Boston was a tricky one to get into – Ian talked about it enough – he wasn't getting in. “Where the fuck you going, thought you were going to jump in my ass?”

 

Ian shrugged, a small smile against his lips as Mickey was actually considering all that shit. Ian had it all worked out; He and Lip had devised a plan, to Lip's dismay, to equally get Mickey into the university. They might have to be subtle and respectable when going there but southside would never leave them. “Lip's helping me with some studying and shit, I need good grades to get my course. See you tomorrow?” He offered, with a raised eyebrow.

 

Mickey just solely nodded, wishing that Ian would just stick it in to make the conversation any less than awkward. Mind of matter he would always say, but now his mind was running all over the place. Someone actually wanted him around. Ian Gallagher wanted him around. There were still those barriers, deadly blocks that were intimately shattering any kind of future. Terry. The only person that probably would never let him leave – that fuck had captured him into the drug ring a long time ago, there was no leaving that it seemed.

 

–

 

Mandy was rushing around in the kitchen topless, frantically trying to find a top she had chucked in a frenzy of frustration. Lip had called her, asked her to go meet him, she knew there was a planned fuck in there somewhere. But she knew he would probably want to talk about Karen or some shit, about Mandy loosing her shit and running the bitch over. It wasn't a type of occasion she needed to dress up for. As she searched in depth through the ratty couch the front door slammed open. Terry was already in the house, too busy sleeping or fucking in his bedroom. The only person who wasn't around was Mickey, so she guessed rightly to who was now stood behind her.

 

“What do you want fuckhead?” She asked, not turning around until she had found the top she was looking for. If she couldn't find it then she would have to steal one of Mickey's or Iggys, anything that would cover up the hideous hickeys she had spread out against her chest. Collapsing dramatically against the cushions she groaned towards the ceiling. Mickey took a seat next to her.

 

“I'm thinking of leaving.” Mickey started, biting his lip to wait for his sisters reaction. Mandy was the only person he could trust, even if she didn't know about him liking dick, he could still tell her this, without having to mention Ian. Mandy sat up against the back of the chair, her eyes widening with what looked like fear, she also bit her lip – the usual trait of theirs – and fiddled with her hands.

 

Before he knew it, she shoved at his shoulder. “Fuck off, where too?” Mickey could already see that she was against the idea, she was afraid. Afraid of Terry and not being able to protect herself from him. Terry was the only thing blocking her from leaving the shit dump, she was stuck in the same house because the fear stopped her from moving. Mickey was always there to interject, take the hit for her, now he was thinking of leaving. “You know dad won't let you go, right.”

 

Mickey nodded, knowing that was the case and he fucking hated the fact that it was. “You think I don't fucking know that? I don't give a shit anyway, he can kill me if he wants don't mean shit to me.” There was that possibility, the thing that drove through his bones each night. Terry could burst in, shoot him down, after all he already had a grudge on his back after being caught getting fuck by another guy. Terry already had a reason too, so why don't just do it.

 

Mandy watched him cautiously, “You never said where, asswipe.”

 

“Boston.” Mickey answered, reaching over to the coffee table and grabbing the half-full bottle of jacks he had left there hours prior, he was surprised it hadn't been drunk yet. Mandy opened and closed her mouth, trying to process the direct answered that seemed so confident.

 

“Boston?” She repeated in question. “What the fuck is going on in Boston, is there a drug run you got to sort out or some shit. Oh wait, I know. You've got some girl down there haven't you, do you love her, do you Mickey? Who is she?” Mandy began to frantically rabbit on, her mouth moving words at a hundred miles per second. Mickey wanted to slam a pillow into her face to shut her up, seriously, she was getting as bad as Ian. That was saying something.

 

“Shut the fuck up would you!” Mickey bit, tilting his head into the direction of Terry's room, if anything he did not want him hearing any of this. Then he would be fucking dead meat. “I'm going to uni, they have some cours-

 

“University? You getting a fucking education? What the fuck Mickey.” Mandy whispered in a shout, as she kept pushing at Mickey's shoulder, she did not get this. Mickey never liked school, what was the sudden change of heart. “You don't even go to school, how the hell are you going to get in?”

Mickey shoved her back, furrowing his brows in annoyance. Jesus, siblings were atrocious. “That's what I said.” Next time she poked, pushed, or even pinched him she was getting a dead arm. The question of how was still fresh in his own mind, for some fucked up reason he trusted Ian. Trusted him enough to consider agreeing to moving away. Some big fucking trust there.

 

“Wait, what? who have you spoke about this to besides me?.” Mandy scrunched her face up with confusion, like she was trying to work out who the hell Mickey talked to besides her. For all she knew he had no friends, he kept to himself because every other fucker was scared of him. “Have you been talking to yourself again, Jesus. You need to quit snorting that shit Iggy picks up, it ain't right with your head.”

 

“No-one, it doesn't fucking matter.” Mickey waved his arms around, hoping to the lord that she would just drop this now. It had already gone to far. “Just forget it, forget I ever even told you this shit. I would never get in anyway.” He tried to lift himself up off the chair but his sister pulled him back with a firm grip to his jacket. Reluctantly, he sat anyway.

 

Mandy reached over the side of the couch to pick up a shirt she had located as she quickly scanned the room, she lifted it over her head before reaching out to her brother. Both hands on his shoulders she began to talk some sense, “I don't give a shit what you do Mickey, aslong as you don't turn out like _him._ If you're gonna go just go, but don't go forgetting about me.”

 

“Are you serious, how could I forget your ugly mug?” Mickey laughed, dodging the flying fist that was aimed his way. Mandy was giving him the evil eyes, ones she would give if she was in the mode of talking and someone interrupted her. “Fine, carry on your rambling you turd.”

 

Mandy cleared her throat, giggling to herself as Mickey rolled his eyes. Looking him straight-faced, dead in the eyes she carried on with her speech-like talk. “You remember what mom used to say to us?” Mickey merely nodded. “That stupid phrase, “Not for the likes of us””

 

Mandy had put on the worst accent known to man, sounding like a croaky Graham Norton or some shit. “Mands she wasn't fucking Irish, what's with the accent?” Mickey scowled, yet again awaiting his fate of a punch to the gut or arm. Both actually. Mandy glared at him, motioning him to stop because she most possibly would rip out his nuts.

 

“Well, in this story she fucking is.” Kneeling against the couch, she started up for what felt like the millionth time in the space of a few minutes. “As I was saying, before you fucking interrupted me, when you told me that you wanted to leave, it was shit yeh, but that voice popped into my head.”

 

This was all too deep for Mickey, he was loosing track of whatever shit she was saying – or trying to say. “What are you getting at?” He asked, smirk riding onto his lips as he saw the frustration building in his sisters face. Oh the joys of winding her up, it happened so easily.

 

Mandy slapped him hard against the chest, gritting her teeth at the fact her brother was a utter,complete arsehole. “Would you just shut the fuck up. Jesus, I never heard you speak so much.” She clamped her hand over his mouth before he could speak again. “The thing is, I never want to hear that voice again. Like ever. So, yeh.” She thought it sounded in sense in her head, maybe she needed to cut out with snorting the coke Iggy happened to bring home.

 

Mickey pushed her hand away, still morally confused. “I don't have a fucking clue what you just said.” He was laughing now at his sister, she had crossed her arms and vacated to the other side of the couch in a hump. Mickey pulled up his legs and rested them in her lap before speaking in a softer tone. “I want to have my own auto shop, does that sound bat-shit crazy to you?”

 

Mandy's features softened, her whole face looking as if it held a glow. Jesus. “Fuck off Mickey, you're my big brother you can do anything in my eyes.” She shot him a cheeky grin, before pinching at his exposed ankle. Mickey yelped, unexpectedly kicking her in the thigh. Mandy just laughed, missing the times where they would just laugh and talk. They never got much of that anymore.

 

“Dad will fucking kill me if I go, though.” Mickey spoke quiet, his anger visible in his words. Terry was only in the other room, but he could feel him predatory against his back, seeking out ways to slice him open and fill his fucked up ways into his mind. Terry could brainwash someone, he had seen it before with their mom.

 

Mandy bit her lip, eyes wandering to the hall where Terry could walk out any minute. “If you don't go then _I'll_ fucking kill you.” She pulled him into a side hug, resting her head against his shoulder with a sigh. Mickey didn't actually notice how much Mandy meant to him, how much he needed her more than anybody. He guessed his mind was always stuck on hiding himself, keeping his secrets locked up in the shadows, praying they would never get out.

 

Just as things seemed to be going as they should, going in the direction Mickey finally wanted them to lead in. It all went crashing down. It always fucking did, he should of guessed this would of happened. Paths were never made to be followed, they were just laid out infront of you by someone else so you would think they were the right way. In fact there were loads of ways, you just get blinded by the guide of what people thought you wanted. What Terry fucking wanted.

 

Mandy had her head against his shoulder when a noise burst through the silence. Terry came clambering through, the stench of his liquor fresh against the short term air, he had a huge smile on his face. The Russian he had called _that_ day was straight behind him, her hair hiding her face. Even though she looked fragile behind Terry, Mickey could tell she was a fighter. They all were really. Terry walked over to the two on the couch, one of his huge hands hitting onto the top of Mickey's shoulder.

 

“I have good news son, great fucking news.” He barged through all the clutter and chucked himself onto the arm chair in the corner of the room. With one swift hand he gestured for the Russian to sit on his lap, causing Mickey and Mandy simultaneously turn away. “Svetlana here has something she has to tell you, boy.”

 

Mandy had her hand clutched against Mickey's, like she already knew what was coming. The heat before the storm. She had never seen the Russian before, apart from when she would come around now and again for Terry. Mickey was looking rather shifty, like he couldn't wait to run out of the house and get out of there. Mandy wished he could, Terry was non-stop on his ass.

 

“We're pregnant.” The Russian mumbled, not bothering to correct her speech. She looked down towards her lap and then back up to Mickey with – wait, was that fucking pity? Mandy gasped from his side, one hand covering her mouth. Mickey gulped, eyes on the verge of watering but he knocked it away. He needed to shoot back to being Terry Milkoviches son, that's what he had been brought up to be after all.

 

He knew it was bullshit from the start. They only fucked a day ago, it wasn't possible for her to be pregnant already. It had to be Terry's. “What the fuck, how is it mine? Her job is to fuck guys left right and centre.” He watched as his dads face burned up, ready to burst and throw as many punches as possible.

“I fuck guys with condom, you – no.” The Russian answered for his dad.

 

Terry grunted from his seat, pushing off the whore with force and squaring up to Mickey who had loss contact with his sisters hand. “You will listen to me, boy. This is your fucking baby she's carrying and I don't give a shit if you want it or not, she's staying here. This is my fucking house, these are my rules. You will marry her and you will look after her, you got that?”

 

“You can't fucking do that.” Mandy piped up, noticing Mickey's flinch and preparing hand that was too late. Terry slapped her across the face, her body pushed back against the side of the couch. “Shut the fuck up bitch, this isn't your fucking doing.”

 

The Russian was later behind, hiding behind her crossed arms. Mickey gulped but kept his straight face, he wanted to crumble. It was already fading. Everything. Terry pulled at his collar, dragging his face close to his. “If you don't do this, I will fucking kill you, that is fact. Don't think I won't stop there, I will kill her too.” He pointed to Mandy who had hid a little, palming her cheek with a hiss. Mickey nodded, scared not for what he would do to him, but what he could do to his little sister.

 

Things were going so well, he had it all worked out. Now this. Mickey wasn't ready to be a dad, especially to a whores baby. It wasn't like he could look after himself nevermind a kid. There was no way of stopping Terry, he was force not to be reckoned with. Mickey glared around the room, knuckles cracking one by one. He watched as his dad grabbed the jacks from his lap, downing a couple of shots out of it before handing it over to Mickey.

 

With a shout, the prick started shouting at the top of his lungs. “Lets fucking celebrate, we've got another Milkovich coming into this world! Mandy- grab the fucking booze, we're all going to have a drink. Even fucking you.” He pointed to Mickey, stern eye on his son. Mandy scrambled up, running to the kitchen to find some clean shot glasses. Mickey watched as the room turned into the blur, he wanted to fucking kill himself.

 

 

\--- **Two months later;**

 

Two months went by and Mickey still hadn't got to grips with the figure laid next to him, in one of Terry's old beds, her bump was barely visible but it was growing bigger each week. Mickey spent most of his nights drinking until he passed out, drink, pass-out, snort coke then repeat it all over. It had been two weeks since he had seen Ian, he didn't want to face the redhead when he was never sober. Ian would shout at him, punch him most probably, he always said Mickey would never turn into Terry. Here he was, never sober, beating the shit out of random people on the street, he was turning into Terry no doubt.

 

Mickey had urged himself to get out, for once, maybe see daylight even if it would burn his eyes. All night he had been craving some waffles or banana pancakes, either way they were the hangover debrief that he needed for days on end. The Milkovich house wasn't a place of cookery classes, they didn't own luxuries so it would be the end of the world of a pancake was found in a pan. There was a diner just four blocks from the alibi, he had been in there a couple of times; shitty service, but damn good food for a couple of dollars. Without anyone seeing, because that shit would just be fucking annoying, he walked into the diner taking the back booth. Through his pounding head he was finding it utterly hard to even read what they had; waffles it is.

 

 

“Hello sir, welcome to Randy's waffle house. What can I get you?” The young, not so-handsome, guy held a shroud look on his face, like he had been slapped numerous times across the face and wanted to just leave. A note book in his head he awaited Mickey's slow response, not looking too impressed when the brunette purposely took his time to fuck him around. “Sir?” His voice droned.

 

Mickey grinned innocently, he had missed pissing off the locals. The house was so boring without having people to mess with. Iggy and Colin were never in, if they were they just provided him with more booze and drugs, or they would tease him non-stop for getting a bitch knocked up. Mandy was always busy with Lip, or Ian, either way she was invested with atleast one Gallagher. Tutting his teeth, he slammed the menu against the table. “I figured by your name I might get fucking waffles, just a wild guess though.”

 

The waiter scoffed in disgust, angrily writing down his order and making his way over to the diner counter. What Mickey hadn't yet processed was that he hadn't yet faced Ian. The redhead still thought Mickey was on board the idea of setting sail off to Boston and going to the university. There was the particular reason why Mickey had been avoiding him for days now, and that was one of them. - he wasn't yet ready to face Ian and tell him about the situation he had been punched into. Maybe he just wasn't ready at all. Messing up his mindset a plate slammed infront of him, holding a large pile of waffles with a base coat of butter smeared ontop of it. Mickey pulled out some notes, pushing them along the table to the waiter.

 

“No tip?” He looked hopeful, trying to send a grin in Mickey's way.

 

Mickey stabbed at his waffle, shoving the large piece into his mouth. Mouth full he answered grinning, “Fuck off asswipe, your service is shitty you should be lucky I actually paid for these.” Rolling his eyes with a sigh he got back to work at eating his food. The waiter groaned turning on his heel to go walk to other costumers. Mickey didn't register the ringing of the door as someone walked in, he guessed it was a busy place it wasn't unusual for someone to be fucking sat right on his table-

 

“Hey, Mick.” It was Ian Gallagher. All his face was flushed with what looked like excitement, he had a white crisp envelope in his hands, the edges torn from a quick cut. Jesus, was it possible for a guy to bulk up in the space of two weeks, because Gallagher's arms sure did look bigger. “I have some news.”

 

Mickey stared him done, waffle dangling in his lips. If Ian could tell him something, with confidence, then he could too. This was the only moment he felt he had the strength to do so. “Me too.” Ian didn't quite hear it, but he sensed something was up with Mickey due to the red rimmed eyes and the stubble forming against his chin.

 

Without interfering or pressuring Mickey to talk he pushed over the letter, beside Mickey's food. The gleam on his face was brighter than Mickey had ever seen, before even opening the letter he knew what it was. He swore he felt his heart shatter. Opening it he gasped for what he might call air, he wasn't sure, the name of address told him enough. Ian was watching him with glimmering eyes, his heart swelling with happiness. Mickey pulled out the letter, unfolding it like Ian had done that morning, his fingers traced the words. “I grant you Ian Gallagher with a Scholarship to Boston University.” Shit. He fucking did it.

 

Ian leaned closer with his elbows leaning against the table, his smile was something that no one could smack off, it was beaming massively. Mickey wanted to hug the kid, finally someone was on the path of leaving this shit hole. It was just that it was the person Mickey wished to fucking stay. With Ian it seemed so much easier, safer, he felt more positive. Like he knew that there was some good fucking cause out of his shitty life.

 

“Can you believe it? I actually fucking did it Mickey” Ian beamed again, eyes looking enderring towards Mickey, hopeful it seemed.

 

“Fuck.” Mickey muttered under his breath. September was coming soon, he hadn't even noticed how fast time had gone. Ian would be leaving earlier, he would want to get there before the main sht happens. Ian always liked to be prepared. Mickey however, still hadn't told him _everything._ Taking by the look on Ian's face he didn't really want to. If he did Ian would just want to stay, that was his nature. “That's fucking great, Ian.” _Shit, he just called him Ian._

 

Ian's eyes fluttered at the absence of his nickname, he controlled himself to push it together and not dwell upon it. For what's infront of him Mickey didn't look too good, not for a tease anyway. “Lip managed to do a fucking good job for once. They said I have to show I want to be there or some shit, how about you? You get yours yet?” There it was again;the hopeful eyes.

 

“Er, no.” It wasn't a question or a hoping remark, it was a fact. Mickey was never going to get a letter because he didn't apply in the first place. There was no point of even thinking about leaving – how could he be stupid enough to believe he could – he would always be pinned to the same place, doing the same things, snorting the same shit. Now he got some whore knocked up, supposedly, he wasn't going anywhere.

 

The taller boys affectious behaviour dimmed a little, his hand begging to touch Mickey's. The older boy continued to stab at his waffles, scoffing them down one by one. One of Mickey's habits at large – he always needed something in his mouth when he was nervous, do Ian's dismay it wasn't a dick. Cigarettes, a bottle, food even, he did anything to have to not speak. “You'll get in Mickey, me and Lip have this all-

 

“I'm not getting in Gallagher.” Mickey stamped his ground, wiping his last waffle in the mix of crumbs and butter soaking his plate. “What about you family, they care that you're rushing off like this?” It sounded like he cared – as much as wanted to – he couldn't right now. Even if his body was making him sick of doing so.

 

Ian fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, eyes wandering over Mickey as if he was investigating what was going on. It was always unclear as much as Ian found it easy to read someone. Mickey had always been the hardest. For a moment it sounded like he cared, like he wanted Ian to say, not for his family but for him. “Since when did you give a shit about my family?”

 

“I don't.” Mickey murmured, rejecting the opportunity to create any eye contact at all with the other boy. Ian could give him that quick snap, that one thing that could push him over the edge.

 

The redhead eyed him cautiously, trailing his view across the bruises against Mickey's neck, the blooded, tatted knuckles of his right hand. Gulping he removed himself from making him elaborate, “They don't give a shit really aslong as I keep in touch. Lip will be around most days anyway, he's got some new chick he's banging up there. You are coming, right?” Despite Lip coming up to check on him now and again, he still wanted someone there who he actually trusted.

 

Biting his lip he couldn't bring himself to turn down Ian. “I'll fucking be there, if I get the letter.” Lying was his virtue, he should be a professional in it. People bagged his lies, feeded of them, they used them and turned them into fear. Mickey was always good at that. This lie was more, he could tell, Ian was thriving for Mickey to follow him on his travels, be closer when out of the dump they call a home. Mickey should of known it was all too good to be true.

Ian grinned his trade-mark smile, something that Mickey recognised to turn his stomach. “My flight is in three days, which gives me some time to get used to it and stuff. You need to book yours yanno, it might be better if we get the same plane and shit.” Ian rambled on, like usual. Mickey could literally feel the warmth from Ian's chest from across the table. He wished he hadn't gulfed down all those waffles because he just might puke on the table.

 

Mickey could feel himself crumbling under the pressure, like he was stuck in a aeroplane cabin and there is a whole in the side of the plane, sucking out everything in its path and he's trying to hold onto the seat he's sat in, but the bolts are breaking off one by one, determining that soon he will fall too. “Sure, but I gotta sort some shit out first.” He needed to sort out _everything. Just tell him you fucking coward, tell him._

 

“What's your news?” Ian asked, sipping at some coffee he already picked up from the shop down the road.

 

“Hm?”

 

Ian tilted his head, trying to grab Mickey's eyes with his own but it was useless. Mickey was in a world of his own, it was turning but it wasn't for him. Whatever he had to say was making him jittery, he couldn't sit still on his seat. Some things worried Ian more than others.“Your news, you said you had news.”

 

Mickey pushed himself up from his seat, Ian following, he snatched the coffee from the redheads head and walked towards the exit. “Nothing, just forget it.” They both walked out, Ian gleaming at the hope he subsided, Mickey screaming out internally because he wanted nothing more to tell the boy next to him what was really going on.

 

\---

 

**Three days later;**

 

“Thanks for this Mick, I know you didn't want to drive me here and shit, but Lips such a fucking asshole its unbelievable.” Ian was racing to get to the check in desk, Mickey was slowly trailing behind holding one of Ian's army duffles. When did he get so fucking soft. Ian knocked at his door in the early hours, begging Mickey to drive him to the airport before he missed his plane. Mickey took a quick glance to his snoring father and immediately thought against it, but Mandy was always there pestering, not really knowing what was going on, but she still pushed him into driving Ian.

 

They dumped the bags, Mickey didn't really want to be there. It wouldn't be the same without Ian being in his life, now he was the one to see him off. It fucking sucked. Now, the time he had to realise that maybe he did have feelings for Ian, maybe holding him at night seemed appealing, why did it have to be now? Still, he hadn't told him about Svetlana or the fact he would be having a kid soon – he would of, he would. But Ian was the type to drop everything to help someone out. If anyone was getting out of Southside, Mickey was making sure it was Ian.

 

“Whatever man, you couldn't fucking walk here could you?”

 

Ian chuckled to himself, eyes glancing to the plane board to check which desk he had to check in with. Looking back down to Mickey he inhaled deeply, “I can delay, I mean, if you want me to.” Mickey still hadn't told Ian that he didn't apply, he still hadn't told him that he was going to become a fucking dad. Ian was always a selfless basturd.

 

“Nah man, your getting on that fucking plane.” Mickey shook his head, face hard, lips nearly trembling. Fuck, he needed a smoke. This could be the last time he'd ever see Ian Gallagher, this could be the last sight of that fiery, red hair, that build that made him feel funny and made his legs jiggle. This could be the last moment he would ever get the chance to say anything to him.

 

Ian sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes locking to Mickey's; who he swore were watering from where he was standing. “I, er, got you something.” Ian laughed to himself, one hand in his pocket. “Don't fucking laugh – close your eyes.” Mickey did as he was told, peeping one eye open as Ian looked down to grab what he wanted. “Hey- I said close your fucking eyes.”

 

Mickey was grinning to himself, god he was going to miss this. He felt Ian reach to his wrist, soft finger tips tracing down to his finger, at first he thought he was trying to hold his hand, if so he would kick that fucker, but it wasn't his intentions. Ian lifted Mickey's index finger and held it before them, for some reason Mickey still hadn't opened his eyes yet. Defiantly Gallagher's bitch.

 

“Okay, keep it there.” Ian directed, letting go of his finger and bringing something cold towards it. Mickey opened his eyes and noticed a globe hanging on a chain infront his finger, Ian was grinning like an idiot.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Mickey spat softly, he gripped onto the globe and turned it in his hands. Once he rounded it to America he saw little, scrawny handwriting round about the area Ian was going to. It had his named scrawled across it, Mickey scoffed. “Why you gotta ruin it with this sappy shit, Jesus Gallagher.”

 

Ian giggled to himself, revealing a shy smile. “I don't know, I guess I love being fucking sentimental. Bite me.” The tanoid called out Ian's plane and gate number, the woman droning like a cat being strangled. Mickey could of strangled himself at this point. Time was way too short, he hadn;t even gotten to the part where he stopped Ian from leaving because he finally expressed his inner feelings.

 

Without thinking Mickey pulled Ian into a hug as he was reaching down to grab his bags, his hands clutched around him hoping it came out in words how much he didn't want him to leave. Ian needed to be there. Mickey needed Ian to be there. He couldn't work out all this shit without him, he had always been there. All that time Mickey was pushing Ian away, constantly driving him in the direction that wasn't Mickey, and yet, now he wanted him to stay. Now he _was_ chasing him like some bitch.

 

Ian pulled away first, weak smile on his lips but it was easy to tell he was beaming inside. “See you in two weeks yeh?” He quickly and bravely pecked a kiss onto Mickey's cheek, they hadn't kissed and Ian truly believed that they might never – not after the kiss in the club. Mickey's eyes were watering – he felt like such a girl.

 

As Ian reached the check point, dumping his luggage onto the baggage mover, Mickey felt his heart swell like never before. Shit. Was there a way of stopping him. Ian wasn't really going, _was he?_ It all seemed so utterly crazy how he could suddenly feel like this – something told him that he had been feeling like this for a long time it just took him three fucking years to realise that. He watched Ian, still stuck in the same spot he had left him in. The redhead was smiling his head off, continuing his walk towards costoms.

 

Mickey couldn't help himself, “IAN!” he called out, ignoring the turned heads and tired scowls. They weren't that far apart, only a couple of feet separating them . _Just tell him, just do it._

 

“What is it Mick, I really need to go. Did I forget something?” Ian checked himself, patting pockets, counting out his checklist clearly oblivious to the fact Mickey was trying to stop him from leaving.

 

Mickey could do this, he had been preparing for the last week. Ian was right there, waiting for him, waiting for him to say shit that he'd always want to hear. But then he felt the scratch in his throat, the clog in his mouth. “Dont-” Is all he got out, the words were stuck from his overgrowing fear. _Fucking coward._

 

“Don't what?”

 

Mickey stumbled his words, his heart picking up the pace. “Just..-” There it was again, his emotional constipation, he couldn't even tell him to not leave. Ian looked at him with glazed over eyes, as if he knew what Mickey was trying to say, the taniod once again called out. Mickey pleaded with his eyes, one hand fiddling with the globe he had pressed inside of his pocket. It was easy to see that Ian was spilt between the two doorways, one being Mickey; the other being a new life, getting out. Just being him. Mickey didn't say anything else, Ian wasn't entirely sure if Mickey even wanted that, if he could even have that.

 

Gently, Ian palmed Mickey's cheek letting the smaller boy lean into it. With one more call from the taniod he was gone, taking his bags and looking bag several times. At that moment Mickey felt everything shatter, the walls, his system, anything that he had built up – was gone. How the fuck could he do this alone, bring up a kid, still provide, deal with Terry. Fuck, it would have been so much easier if Ian didn't leave for that fucking plane.


End file.
